


'cause he's the only one that I have ever l o v e d

by bowtiesnrocksalt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: As well as others, I will go down with both of those ships, I'm going to bed now, It was cool, Like it legit smelled like that, M/M, Okay so I was listening to some Daughter, Plus the whole smoke thing came from an actual experience, SO SHIPPSS, So Destiel - Freeform, So Sabriel, So it's two in the morning, Stuff gets me emotional, What am I doing, god whyy, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowtiesnrocksalt/pseuds/bowtiesnrocksalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To put names to the four of them, though, was something not to be said aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause he's the only one that I have ever l o v e d

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is something that I just wrote and never really stopped to look over. It's really late so I'll probably just post it for now and go back over it later. I hope you little chilis like it. Whoever you chilis are. 
> 
> Ugh I need to use the sleep and thESE SHIPS GIVE ME FEELS JUST LIKE MOOSELY AND EVERY OTHER ONE UGH JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL. 
> 
> Oh, and I highly recommend listening to 
> 
> Love - Daughter
> 
> because that's what really started this fic though no betrayal is found anywhere in it. The beat and the constant usage of 'love' is just really fitting for the story. 
> 
> I dunno. 
> 
> Bye, Felicia.

I can't erase it  
From my mind  
I just replay it, over,  
Think of it all the time.

-

It was with a brazen, leisurely scrape through time that they were blown away like embers in cold air. Their endings never had a cause or a reason that was suitable to the ones who guided them towards it; deaf to their unrelenting cries for help that were albeit cryptic but still just as simple. Those pleas, though, were the only things simple about them.

It was never a blank canvas for Sam, Dean, Cas, or Gabriel. There was never a definite, crystalline start or beginning on the horizon or behind their shoulders. It was all just a blur; one where their images were painted on thickly to a panoramic picture that had burnt edges. Sam, in some sense, was the glue that held them together if they were looking for definite partitions between them. The warmth his relentlessly melting hazel eyes held bore into theirs’ sharper than the knives that they knew, sometime in their past, they pressed against temples not meant to have scars. Dean was the combatant; green eyes blazing and copper on his tongue in a way that desperately arced and twisted so as not to become like his father’s. Castiel was ever the peacekeeper among them; a withering soul of a now dead pacifist that reigned in Dean’s fury in a way not very different than a beekeeper’s gentle drifting past hives thrumming with poison and sweetness. And Gabriel, in all his untapped glory, was the one that protected them without a thought given to his actions. It was pure instinct to him that he take any blows that came towards them; a shield that suffered damages not meant for one body to handle and Sam was always there to heal the wounds; quiet, bemused metal-worker that hovered with such urgency over Gabriel’s abrasions that it was ever endearing. 

To put names to the four of them, though, was something not to be said aloud. They found it to be a conformist’s job to take titles and they were never to be creatures like the ones they saw roaming haunted halls. The ones with sharp, piercing gazes faking the animosity of Gods written about in books they sneered at. They took up the obligations of judging and thus became demigods because anything above that was wasted on their piteous minds; withering way at the rough claws of pills and the constant craving and scramble for smoke to inhale. That addiction made those demigods weak and reassured the four; told them stories of their creators screeching like sirens into pale, blank spaces filled with pictures of people now dead to them. It reminded them and pushed into their beings with such a fury it burned loud like brazen trumpets along with the other thoughts drifting aimlessly in their heads. 

Those thoughts, however, were easily muddled. It was without abandon that they ambled into a truck –Gabriel driving, of course- and watched the warm buildings fly by in a quickened promenade that they so wished they could join in on. But at the same time as they inhaled smoke that smelled like strawberries and vanilla and thought that it was no better. It was a trick beacon that was too similar to the one that drove their souls to pick the very generations they so hated as they bloomed further and further. And it was with practiced grace that Dean followed Cas onto the top of the cab of the truck, his tan trench coat stark against the blue-black void speckled with the ghosts of fire. It made his own green eyes glow and something toxic shred through his purple veins; filled him with something better than alcohol or love or anything so damn materialistic that it made him forget what it was to be genuinely human. It was, instead, a mask of bliss and the want and need to be near the boy with electric blue eyes that he swore, without a doubt as he looked at him, had wings. They were made of stars that hung lividly in the void, without a single purpose but vanity and memory, and they sprouted from his shoulder blades with such a striking beauty that Dean felt his eyes burn. They burned not because of the smoke or the words that crashed like white hot lightning against the back of his head but because Castiel was fire and needed a river to travel along. It was cliche and Dean hated it but he loved it and ached for it and Castiel’s mouth was a wanton, scarlet fire in the middle of a porcelain blizzard. Dean was barely able to process the warmth that erupted from his lips against the gusts of wind that pulled with pointless, lifeless demand at his clothes. He almost fell away from the anchor that was Castiel because he was exposed; vulnerable to eyes that were nothing but pools of cruel, chemical reactions that didn't deserve to resemble the entities that sprouted from Castiel’s back. But the boy with daylight flooding through soul did not care; pressed closer and closer to the point that they were nothing but two metal statues under fire and they melted together so easily that Dean shuddered at the feeling of being completely at the mercy of Castiel’s hands. 

And it was nothing like how Sam and Gabriel were. Sam who was in the passenger seat with a strap across his lean figure on the whim of Gabriel’s words. Those very words hung between them and Sam couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the smell of strawberries and vanilla coming past the gates of Gabriel’s colored lips that he couldn’t help but stare at. Yet it was an image clouded by greyness; a fog produced from the very corrupted lungs of Gabriel himself. Sam shifted at the blurred images and the yellow light that erupted in an empty routine from the street lamps. All he wanted in the world –the world that was nothing but a blurry panoramic photo with thick paint splayed against the undefined lines that was them- was Gabriel. It was an addiction, Gabriel’s laugh and his eyes that glowed like two suns in the blackness of a universe that Sam craved to break down into and never leave. But there were walls and all he got to see of the glory that was Gabriel was his wings. His wings made of strawberry-and-vanilla smoke that slipped through the tiny sliver of open air above the window. Sam realized how ephemeral those two silver appendages were and only wanted to make them real. He wanted to set it all in stone and keep Gabriel reigned down so he could repair and repair and take all the pain away because it’s not what Gabriel deserves. So Sam tries and finds himself leaning over to kiss the corner of Gabriel’s mouth. It was all the smoke spilling past the golden gates and two suns that relentlessly considered the constant perihelion that wavered past them day by day. And when Gabriel shifts just a few muscles and tilts his head at an angle that Sam with a mind as great and as mighty as the dawn could easily analyze and put into meaningless numbers but he doesn’t because Gabriel’s mouth is locked onto his and it’s cold. It’s cold in a way of snow crashing into the depths of Hell but it’s Holy. Snow that pushed through the gates of Heaven to bring mercy to the sinners that Sam believed he had breathing inside of his chest. It danced a violent sort of waltz with the demons that foolishly toyed with the beautiful ideas that ambled with fear in its core in his mind and soon Gabriel swallowed those demons whole. He absorbed them in a way that Sam feared and understood that he could never replicate or even dare to try because it was not what he was meant for. He was meant to keep things together and anything that tangled with him would never escape. But with Gabriel all those demons could ever be was smoke that he could inhale and exhale; a simple action like breathing but more violent in its scars because it killed Gabriel. It killed him slowly and silently and Sam ached to take it away so his hand found the edge of Gabriel’s hip and the intake of air that was elicited across from him was too much for Sam to handle. 

And somehow Dean and Cas were slowing down and eventually it was all in a field. The truck became nothing but a contraption holding two different worlds entirely and four characters lost in their constant ache for one with wings made of smoke or stars. And with Dean all he wanted was Cas with his daylight soul and suspended wings made only in the night. Castiel wanted something as well and his ambition to get it was something lovely. Castiel saw Dean in a way that the green-eyed teen could never understand. He saw Dean as a fire that he couldn’t hope to tame. He burned everything green or lively like his eyes though he couldn’t see that, no matter how hard he tried because it was Dean. Dean who was a creature at loss for a home with nothing in the world but a brother to protect. Dean who was scared of the world itself but had to put on a mask of stone for the sake of the little voice that shook along with the thunder. A thunder that echoed louder than the sound of John’s hand against Dean’s cheek. A thunder that was infinitely louder than the sound of Mary Winchester’s screams as she went down in flames that a forest fire like Dean could only blame himself for. He was perpetually covered in blooms of scarlet and gold and no matter how gentle he could still destroy cities. And it was with that potential for destruction –a twisted form of creation- that Castiel only wanted to grip onto tightly and never let go of. And with his hands around Dean’s impossibly solid body that he tried to; tried to press closer and tried to extinguish the sun that burned hot in Dean’s core. With winds on his lips he trailed his mouth down Dean’s neck; lingered over the veins and heard the fuel of the fire rushing hurriedly under skin not meant to hold down such a wild, sweltering creature such as Dean. 

Sam was a contrary being. Sam who was everything but all at once he was nothing but a storm kept stuffed inside a vessel unfit for such a thing. Gabriel, when his hand traced up Sam’s side, collected lightning and the veins of white-hot energy tangled around his fingertips with such power that it burned in a way that he could only gasp at. But Gabriel, as the constant sun he was, knew of Sam’s gentleness. He saw the timid fawn slipping through a forest damp with rain and could see the fear that Sam so desperately tried to hide for the sake of his own well-being. And Gabriel wanted to dig out that vulnerability and expose those fears; hold them in his hands and make them vanish into thin air because it did not rumble like a storm against the endless night sky. It did not conform to the needs of a protector –a sun that kept warm the planets that stayed a reasonable distance from him. And with Sam being his own powerful being he crept forward into Gabriel’s core and did not mind the heat because he saw it as the cold. Gabriel could tell that he was no longer heat to Sam but instead a blue fire with not a trace of what it was supposed to be to it. He was taming those ugly beings inside of the hazel-eyed teen and he could tell. Through the gold of his eyes he could see the layers of protection falling from him and it shed with such a trust in Gabriel that it hurt. But that pain was wiped away with Sam’s teeth nipping at Gabriel’s lower lip and his finger carving patterns into his hip. 

Exactly a thousand years past before Gabriel started up the truck and drove them all home. Of course the fire stayed with the stars and the storm with the smoke as it was now written on their chests. A star was carved onto Dean’s and a flame on Castiel’s as they collapsed against the softness of Dean’s bed. They did not worry about John because he was in another state drinking himself into a slow, unforgiving death. They did not worry about Mary because her ghost, if it did appear by some chance, would not care and would simply smile with teeth whiter than pearls. Of course the same colors appeared on Castiel’s skin- almost porcelain and because Dean was always the destroyer he handled Cas as so. Shards of moonlight speckled the expanse of Dean’s already freckled and carved out chest and reeled in Cas’ hand like a moth to light. Castiel did think, though, that Dean was light and he himself was a moth. A winged creature constantly searching for a light that it knew would burn and rage against his own willowy figure. Yet it was instinct. It was instinct to find Dean’s lips in near complete darkness and it was instinct for Dean to trace his fingers along the edges of Castiel’s hips and jaw. It was something natural but not primal and it was something that neither of them dared to utter into the void. 

Sam, though, was primal. It was much like a hurricane –a storm frothing with power and spilling claws of lightning and heavy torrents of rain- that he fell over Gabriel. They did not worry about any of the other Novaks for they were all dead and gone besides the father who was too busy carding through papers in another building to worry about the endeavors of his two living hopes. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, though, and both Gabriel and Sam agree on this. They agree on so many things in that darkness that masked the bites on Gabriel’s neck and Sam’s hand pressing against the graceful arc of Gabriel’s back that he created for what Gabriel is sure is the millionth time. Soon, though, Gabriel becomes a flurry of broken sunlight and topples over Sam. He holds the storm trapped beneath something human and absorbs all the demons. He kisses them from Sam’s neck and nips the ones that travel over Sam’s chest. And it was an inconsistent thing soon enough; they relaxed into each other’s arms and pressed the pads of their fingers against the faces that they so adored yet so despised because they were so much more than what they seemed. And it was with a press of his lips against Sam’s that he realized that Sam was the clouds and he was the sun. He created Sam but Sam had all the potential to build up in a rage of a thousand emotions and crash over Gabriel with more fury than Gabriel could ever hope to acquire. 

And it all built up into one giant mass of words and touches and emotions that they couldn't identify. It suffocated them and pushed them towards whatever things they so desired because they weren't conformists. They didn't accept titles that were spoken into air but knew that they had places. They each had a role and before anything else could move on there was a poem that was recited into their minds:

_Fly, little moth_

_Into the fire_

_Reach into the light_

_Go a little higher_

_Build, little cloud_

_Over the sun_

_Crash over the gold_

_Until the day is done_

_But love, little fire_

_The moth made of stars_

_Look into the silver_

_And find what you are_

_Oh, but love, little sun_

_Take your cloud with care_

_Make sure the arcs of grey_

_Are always there_

_Because the moth seeks the light_

_As the clouds seek the sun_

_And it shall be that way for infinity_

_Until their days are done_


End file.
